These Souls
by MissBedouin
Summary: A collection of oneshots, humor, romance, fluff, and fun. MakaxSoul, among other pairings-one of them crack.
1. This is Me

There was nothing exceptional about it

There was nothing exceptional about it. He didn't feel like playing. He smirked; the only smile he knew. A scowl. The only response he knew.

The next day was the same. He was asked. He declined. He knew he was pushing it now; sooner or later he'd play. He'd have to play.

That was how that day started. He had pulled off the act long enough. Now he stood reluctantly before the instrument; wishing everyone would disappear. His scarlet eyes took in the closed lid. He slid it back slowly, as if it were a heavy burden. Softly it obeyed, slipping back its wooden lip into a hollow slice; exposing a sea of ebony and ivory keys. He reached for the bench, allowing it to slide the dust back as its felt-padded feet cleared the floor. Then he sat down.

Spite washed him over. His will revolted against pressing his fingers into the white and black rows. He felt hot and horrible under his suit; it exposed his soul to the world. What he was, how he saw himself. He hated it.

His foot finally found the pedals; his hands ached as they were brought over the cursed line of keys. Then he played.

Invisible sheet music subconsciously guided his mind and soul and fingers. The keys were played softly, loudly, strangely, chaotically, emotionally. He suddenly forgot that he hated playing for _people._ He was _playing_.

Suddenly, he didn't feel Them around himself anymore. He remembered They had been gone a long time. His mind, for a moment, let go of the hatred that still kept Them burning in his soul. He only knew himself, and one other.

There was only one today. He didn't know her, had only glimpsed her. Blonde hair, emerald eyes. That's all he remembered.

His song continued; dark and strange. His identity imprinted in every note, he exposed himself in a spinning riddle of a song. It ended just as his heart slowed and his soul calmed.

He turned around, smiling; a smile he hadn't used. A smile he almost didn't know.

"This is me."

The girl smiled back.


	2. Various Acts

The Various Acts of Black Star on His Weapon's Birthday:

_The Various Acts of Black Star on His Weapon's Birthday:_

_--_

First, he had graciously bestowed his signature star on his calendar; in special blue ink might I add, on the day that corresponded with his weapon's date of birth.

He had smiled, pleased with himself.

Second, he actually remembered. After sleeping in, using up all the hot water in the shower, admiring himself in the mirror and choosing his most-worn clothing, he glanced at his calendar and remembered.

He had smiled, pleased with himself.

His weapon, Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, had gotten up with a pleasant disposition and made breakfast as usual.

"Hmm, it's my birthday. What should I make for breakfast? What would Black Star want?" was her train of thought.

The young man sat down at the table, awaiting nourishment, when he committed a third act.

He thought about what to get her. Of course he hadn't prepared ahead of time. But the Great Black Star never fails.

He considered a signature, but everybody got that anyway. Tsubaki herself had a storage of 111 signatures (all those #1's are fitting, aren't they?). So Black Star thought some more.

He actually considered giving her a lock of his hair, but what was he kidding? If he gave Tsubaki a lock of his hair, _everybody_ would want one. Gods don't go around bald. At least this one didn't.

Black Star continued thinking throughout the day (giving himself an unusual headache), but he refused to give up. He lost his concentration a couple of times when he had an uncontrollable act of excitement over his best test score yet (30 out of 125), and when he had his customary grand-scheme entrances of godly attention-hogging splendor. But he soon became concerned once Shibusen let out for the day and the inevitable was coming: Tsubaki's party.

He knew everyone was planning a party for her; and, of course, he had let it slip to Tsubaki. She promised that she would act surprised for everyone else's sake.

So they went home, changed, and got the on-cue call to head to Kid's house. Their walk there was slow and steady. There was a warm breeze, and the stars had all come out as if something interesting was going to happen. The grinning moon drooled.

"_**Surprise!"**_

Tsubaki smiled wide, feigning surprise, as she and Black Star walked into Kid's mansion. Everyone else already knew Black Star must have blabbed, and Maka lightly gave him her signature Maka Chop.

Now, parties for this particular group of technicians and weapons usually go like this: Kid meticulously organizes them, and Black Star does just the opposite. So they were surprised when the cerulean-haired ninja did little besides stand there and grin like an idiot.

He grinned like an idiot as his weapon smiled and laughed (and occasionally apologized for laughing too loud; just like the over-polite Tsubaki would), and grinned like an idiot while she was, quite frankly, the center of attention.

He grinned like an idiot because he had committed his final act of the day, done something he had never done before, and figured out his weapon's present all at the same time:

He let someone else be the star for once.

He smiled, pleased with himself.

--

Whew! My first Black Star/Tsubaki piece or whatever you want to call it. Honestly, I'm better equipped with Soul/Maka, but this pairing is cute, and I liked writing for it. I think it almost had to be humorous; it involves Black Star. But I may write another one; this one was fun. Perhaps something a bit more dramatic. But, yeah, here ya go. Hope you liked it: Now Review!


	3. Slow Record Reverie

--

--

Cheap music. Jazz. Such a slow record.

The imp's music played monotonously; strange background sounds for the conversation at hand.

Maka concentrated on wording herself right; thinking about her decision, about Soul's reaction. A plunge into insanity. She could feel the little demon's pleasure; it came in subtle, pulsing scarlet waves.

Everything felt out-of-body; timeless. She and Soul were concentrating purely on their inner selves now; mainly into Soul's wavelengths. The strange yet not-overbearing intimacy of it aroused her, but she refused to concentrate on it. She continued speaking:

"I knew you'd be upset." She had expected his reaction. Was it because they were in soul resonance, or did she finally know him enough to tell on her own? _Stop thinking about that. Concentrate. _

She had to catch herself in the silent moments as they stepped slowly; the same motion, the same dance. _Follow Soul's lead, keep talking, stop thinking like that._

She could take dances in the real world. But this was Soul's…soul. It felt weird. She didn't like it.

It wasn't that they were basking in sexual tension; she wasn't subduing a motion of passion. But this _was_ a new feeling. She hated being distracted about it. She couldn't look Soul in the eyes.

Just plunge into already. Anything had to feel better than this.

Such a slow record.

--

Short? Yes. Pointless? Maybe. I felt like writing what other thoughts could have been going through Maka's head when she and Soul were dancing. And no, I don't think everything set up for romantic tension (or sexual tension for that matter). But still; I think it's realistic. He's a guy. She's a girl. They're dancing. In their souls. Yeah; I'd feel a little awkward too. Anyway; I present my short drabble-y muse.


	4. Of Death

--

--

This is what you get.

It was a conclusion, not an answer, not a prayer.

"Who's that kid playing the piano?"

"It's that weapon…"

A monotonous song strung along the chords of the dark-skinned instrument. The beat matched the record of a certain "Little Demon."

It was impossible.

Those were his first thoughts; the first stage of grief.

Denial.

Slowly, his nightmares morphed.

She'd be kneeling, her legs plastered on the ground, blood pouring from her fingers. Black blood. She turned. Blood sputtered out like a broken fountain:

"_Something's wrong with me."_

He'd wake up each time cold and in the midst of a heart attack, his soul screaming.

But, when he woke up, the nightmare simply shifted again.

This nightmare consisted of nothing. His meister was gone. And this was the real world.

He was supposed to be the greatest death scythe; swallowing the 99 malicious souls and 1 of a witch. But the last soul he cradled was her own.

Blue. A relaxing color. It had held unto a fluttering motion for the tiniest heart beat; those weak wings refusing to believe it either. That its shell was gone. But then they stopped, stopped completely; falling silently.

For the longest time he could only hold this bodiless, lifeless orb. He remembered darkness falling thick and black, and he could only see by the blue radiance of Maka Albarn's departed soul.

An hour had crept by. The soul could not sustain itself any longer. It had burst.

This was a world of cruelty, of magic, of death. Expecting happily-ever-after's was like wishing his family hadn't cursed his fate as forever a disappointment, was like wishing he actually didn't care about others' judgment, like wishing he was a cool guy; undaunted and hard-hearted.

He hated her for opening his shell; for exposing this gaping wound in his chest to pain and loss and suffering again. But this time, it was all over someone else.

He hated himself for bearing the black blood that finally won. He hated the world because he had made it out and she hadn't. He hated Spirit for bringing Maka into the world. He hated Shinigami for ruling over death.

Slowly, he would be looking at the world through spite again.

"I told you it was **us** who would win."

Soul ended his despicable song.

He also hated himself for not being able to cry. His new life would soon rid him of that regret.

--

ANGST! Dun-dun-dun. Obviously an alternate time piece. This one-shot morphed from death ideas, boredom, and desperation. Ta-da.


	5. Dignity

This is what happens when spiders, snakes, crazy teachers, and missions happen to not be an issue on a lazy Sunday:

_This is what happens when spiders, snakes, crazy teachers, and missions happen to not be an issue on a lazy Sunday:_

"Hey Soul, you ever wonder about Shinigami's name?"

The crimson-eyed weapon glanced at her; he did not move from his idle sprawl on the couch.

"No."

"Well, he's also known as the Grim Reaper,"

"So?"

"Well, that's saying he's using a scythe,"

"What about scythes?"

"Well, I think it's funny that they're a weapon—"

"What?!" Soul finally moved, "Since when are they funny?"

"Well," Maka twirled her hair around her finger, trying not to smile, "They're a farming tool, not a weapon,"

Soul's eyes flashed.

"Apparently not! They're a weapon!" Maka laughed now.

"One difference away and Shinigami could have been the Grim Pitchfork, and you could have been a plow for all we know," She laughed harder at this, noticing Soul's face.

"You're just insulting yourself!" He threw back

"Hey--" Maka chuckled, "If a rake can get the job done--"

"Shut up!"

Maka let her snickers subside. They both sat in lethargic silence. Then Maka broke the ice again.

"By the way, what's that thing you always wear in your hair? Is it a headband?"

--

Yeah, Maka destroys Soul's dignity in their free time. I've been trying to break by writer's block. My friend and I came up with this while running around the neighborhood. Yeah….


	6. Anything is Everything

--

"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life... I think that what we're really seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our innermost being and reality, so that we can actually feel the rapture of being alive." – Joseph Campbell

--

With his emotions, he never **chooses** anything. "Anything" just happens.

With his emotions, he never **says** anything. "Anything" is everything.

--

He'd go first.

--

He'd fall first.

--

He'd die first.

--

It wasn't his style to say so many things. To admit so many things. Even to himself.

Though the day the question, the thought, the obvious answer hit him, he did not deny it. It was an embarrassing thought to be sure, but it made him smile. He'd have to think of a cool way to go about it.

In the mean time, he'd let her try and figure it out on her own.

--

When he held her.

When his heart beat.

With his emotions, he never **says** anything. "Anything" is everything.


	7. True

He found her, a broken pattern amongst the amiable crowd. She wasn't bawling; no, she was holding that back. Tears ungracefully slipped passed the border of her eyes.

Chrona was dead. But so was Medusa. So was Arachne.

Forever and ever, no happily ever after. That's the price of bittersweetness.

He still didn't understand it. This strange flame of understanding and affection she had wished to coax between her and one who had grown as a living weapon and nothing else.

He turned away for a moment, breaking off the painful gaze.

He happened upon one of those moments then; where, in one insignificant span, a revelation strikes without even the trial of the usual allegorical path. The answer suddenly comes to you, lighting up in your mind like a white light.

The illumination was this; that was just Maka. She'd always reach out to those who were alone; whose souls resonated, even just briefly, with her own. It had been the same with him. This Evans boy, who deemed himself "Soul Eater;" his soul supposedly this untouchable thing, kept inside a case of glass.

But everyone knows how glass breaks.

--

It breaks into beautiful, painful pieces.

--

Soul made himself look back. The noise around them was still definite, and amidst the chorus of shouts and jubilation and relief, Soul crossed over the way, bridging the gap between partner and weapon.

--

"A true friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else." - Len Wein

--

It was an embrace that dried Maka's tears. Shock rocked her a minute; her mind processed the rough warmness around her, the strange hold about her. She could not move her arms, and so the remaining tears cascaded down on he partner, like warm rain.

She knew he must be embarrassed; he was sacrificing his previous hero glory for a jagged embrace. Did her tears mean that much? Did she mean that much? Her fingers tingled. But her heart didn't soar in a bout of nervousness.

--

It felt too right to behave any differently.

--

A smile crept inside Maka. She wished she could thank him, but the beauty of that moment was too overwhelming to break.

There could be no more tears if the most important person was still by her side.

--

--

_Yeah, __**this**__ is my favorite one. A bit cheesy, but at least there's no "OMG! I LOVE YOU! I must serenade you though in the actual series I would never be caught dead doing that because it's not my character!" _

_Besides, this is what I call the good kind of cheesy cheese._

_But anyway, I'm happy with this one. It's an intimate Soul/Maka, but not too intimate. That's what I think anyway._

_P.S. Don't expect anything besides Soul/Maka unless I buy into a request. Cause if you noticed, this is basically a tribute to Soul/Maka. _


	8. Five Senses

.uno

He tasted like regret. Regret that he couldn't have been stronger even now as he sheltered her, barely, against the onslaught. That they'd probably spend their last moments here inside themselves. That they didn't have a life outside of these moments.

()

.dos

He looked like he was fading; the light behind him swallowing up. Or was he the one swallowing the light? She couldn't tell, his silver-white hair blocked the sun—moon—their souls? She wasn't sure.

()

.tres

He felt rigid. But he was warm to her touch, but if she moved across his face—he'd be cold. He was bracing himself against darkness, against his fear, the cold sweat gripped him, a clammy hold constricting around him. Could she brush it away? But then her fingers felt that cold.

()

.cuatros

His breathing sounded softly, sometimes he gasped. His heart beat sporadically beneath his scar. She pressed her head against it, listening, no longer afraid.

()

.cinco

She smelled insanity. Fear. But stumbling beneath, a surprise attack, a persevering soldier—there was the scent of roses. Why roses?

--

She looked into his eyes. She knew why.

--

What random crap is this, you ask? Maka and Soul: the 5 senses! Yep, writer's block.


	9. Cool Confession

Of course he had thought about it. He only acted like he didn't. Of course things hadn't gone exactly to plan, but since was he a romantic?

How was he supposed to know that she had accepted a 3-week solitary course off in some middle-of-nowhere mountains? She told him the night before for Shinigami's sake!

He considered forgetting it altogether, but he shook away that thought: it was now or never. So there, in their messy apartment living room; he was dressed in his pajamas and she was dressed in sweats, he brought it up:

"Oi, Maka."

"Yeah?"

"…."

"Soul?"

"You're looking a little less flat lately,"

Somehow an entire series of books dug deep into his cranium.

"Gah!" Soul seethed in pain, "I'm trying to compliment you!"

"Yeah; your insensitivity has got me blushing,"

"Look; can't you tell, woman?"

"Tell what, Soul, that you're being an idiot?"

"Stop!"

She blinked in surprise.

"Let's not start this again." Soul concluded. He straightened himself and looked Maka straight in the eye. He was now about to attempt something no man should ever attempt.

"Don't. Go." He mind was being completely unhelpful. What happened to all the words he practiced in the mirror? No. A cool guy like him could wing it.

"Uh, Soul," Maka started, "The trip's kind of already paid for; and I would have taken you along only it's—"

"Maka" Soul interrupted, "Let me finish."

He ran his fingers through his hair; he would have stuffed his hands in his pockets if his pants had any. He sighed heavily then.

"I. Can't. Live_... __Withoutyou_. " Soul muttered.

"Uh, Soul, you're too—"

"I can't live without y—"

Sheesh this was straight from a chick flick; this wasn't cool.

He didn't finish his statement. He didn't need to. He'd seen Maka's face flush in surprise.

An awkward pause settled between them.

"Soul,"

"You're stubborn and aimless and stupid; yet you've got all the book smarts you'll ever need and you keep amazing me," Soul rambled, his face serious.

"Don't be expecting that again," He concluded.

Green eyes and red eyes locked gazes. Finally:

"You know Soul, you have my permission to be romantic," Maka concluded, slightly sarcastic.

"A cool guy knows when to make the right move,"

"That would have been 2 seconds ago,"

And suddenly amidst it all, in their disorganized little living room, Maka received her first kiss. It was rough, unpracticed; but her heart was pounding like some stupid girl in love and Soul was actually holding her.

Maka pulled away, a smile playing in her eyes.

"Cool." She concluded to him. He grinned his usual sharp-toothed grin.

"Cool."

--

_Yep, finally updated. I wanted some S/M, but with as little cheese as possible. _

_I can't really imagine a Soul/Maka confession that'd I'd like; I can always see them just knowing, or saying as little words as possible. Maybe I'll do a different kind in a certain SE fanfic…._

_Anyway, reviews are welcome as always!_

_P.S. By the way, thank you Woodlancer for going through and reviewing __**all**__ the chapters. _


	10. Subtle

There was one thing Maka could say about Soul; he was observant.

The purple finger-paint that faintly dressed her eyes one groggy morning. The fresh nick along her ankle. The pained look in her eyes no smile could warp away.

It was the small things that she found gratitude for. She got too over-stressed and over-wired over huge and gigantic deals; if Soul had been a full-out romantic she might never have fallen for him. He was observant and unassuming; and sometimes he wasn't cool at all.

--

She wasn't sure what to think of him the first time they met. For the longest time she stood in that room; having only been introduced to his formally-dressed back as he lulled across the piano and played a dark and confusing spell. And when he finally turned, a shock of blood-red eyes and shark-like teeth, so familiar now, leapt out at her. But she still took his hand and she genuinely smiled. That's how she knew they were to be partners.

--

Maka's heart was completely fine when he was near. He was a comfortable presence; something that had been acquired after years of partnership and living together. But when he was away and she was alone with her thoughts her heart, and her mind for that matter, seemed to take on an intense and burning sensation.

She didn't wish for some great confession or sloppy kiss; what she wanted most was for him to make the first move. His skin lingering on hers; that would have been enough.

--

It came on a lazy Sunday morning amongst dish suds and the smell of strawberries; with the sun streaming in the window with warm hands and pleasant illuminations. For one moment, as a dish was passed on, Soul's fingers laced with hers and the plate sank back down into the sink. Both knew exactly what was going on and they didn't look each other in the eye. Their hands burned and they let go.

--

Sometimes big things come in small packages. Sometime subtle love is the best kind.

--

--

Oh, how I love experimenting with this couple. This was kind of a "let's attempt at breaking writer's block" piece.

Anyway, thank you all for your reviews. I'm going to try and experiment with a new couple in the next installment.

And for all who read "Through a Mirror Darkly," rest assured, the next chapter shall come. I've recently started on it; so my writer's block is beginning to crumble and the chapter just needs a bit more body before I post!

To conclude, reviews and critique are welcome as always.


	11. Nerves

He had the _nerve _to draw an army of his big, fat signatures all over her skin.

You'd think she could take a nap without being used as someone's personal autograph book; you'd think she could have an hour or so worth's of rest on her couch.

She would have taken her entire collection of tomes straight over to his and Tsubaki's apartment and Maka-Chop the ninja right out of him-- if she didn't look so ridiculous. Instead, she steamed in the bathroom, rubbing her skin red as the black permanent marker slowly ebbed off her skin. She caked herself in layers of lavender soup, filling the bathroom with steam as the hot water faucet blasted into the sink on high.

Scrubbed clean and still ticked, Maka marched all the way to that no-good-blue-haired-idiot's door and didn't even bother to knock.

"Sorry, Tsubaki-chan," she said, bowing to the bewildered young woman. Maka then made her way to the door that lead to that arrogant ninja's room.

"Black Star!!!" And the door greeted the wall like a well-deserved slap; sending the walls vibrating with thunderous resonance.

The culprit was sleeping.

Maka let her new layer of anger set aside as she quietly walked up to the deep-slumbering, unsuspecting soon-to-be-Maka-Chop-victim.

Maka had her thickest book poised and a crooked smile played across her face when she unexpectedly felt a hand upon her knee. Losing her grip on her book and stifling a gasp, she lost her balance and barely made it to crouching on her knees on the floor. Black Star had turned and his fingers had absentmindedly brushed her leg. She should have felt relief that he hadn't awoken. But she was a bit unnerved at the fact that Black Star was this close—_this close_—and she still hadn't so much as flinched away or given him his deserved Chop.

A few seconds, a few seconds, and a blush crept across Maka's face like a late bloom.

"You smell like lavender,"Black Star suddenly whispered.

"Gaaah!" Maka screamed, quickly snapping out of it, "MAKA CHOP!"

--

For fluffypenguinscandy, who suggested the "very, very strange pairing" of Black Star/Maka. A little fluff piece; a good writer's challenge for someone who has her mind wrapped around Soul/Maka. :D


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